Gladstone
by MarblePeace
Summary: Gladstone gets into one of Holmes's experiments... Slash.


**A/N: Yeah, this one is really short. I actually did it out of boredom. Enjoy :3**

_Gladstone_

Watson stands over his bed in his night-shirt, folding the clothes that he would be wearing the proceeding day. Once folded, he lays them neatly on the end of his bed, all ready for tomorrow morning. As he turns to close his closet doors, he hears an agitated yell from somewhere within the apartment. Watson halts and listens, craning his head to the right, towards his door.

Suddenly he spots Gladstone pad into the doctor's room in a hurry, or at least, as fast as his stubby legs can carry him. The hefty bulldog cowers at Watson's feet, his eyes locked on the door. Watson looks down at his dog, his mind already beginning to fathom what the matter is...

Stomping footsteps sound from down the hallway, and as they near the doctor's room, Watson can hear Holmes's voice mumbling angrily all the way. The detective's figure appears in Watson's doorway, eyes ablaze, examining the room. He quickly spots Gladstone and takes a step towards the dog when he notices Watson standing there, protecting his beloved dog. Watson can see the look of fury in his companion's eyes, locked on Gladstone, almost hungrily. "Holmes, don't you dare take another step forward," he warns him.

Sherlock Holmes stays put, respectively, but makes a face of disgust. "That damned dog got into one of my experiments! Again! It's all a mess now, it is!" the infuriated detective yells, pointing at the 'damned dog' with a trembling finger. Watson quickly scoops Gladstone up into his arms, "Holmes, love. Do not yell at Gladstone that way," he replies calmly. "He's a dog. He is going to be curious. It is your responsibility to keep your 'experiments' out of his reach. They could be harmful to him, after all."

The frightened dog buries his face into his loving master's arm, and Watson gently pats him. Holmes huffs and looks up at Watson, "Don't treat the animal like a child! He deserves to be punished. He has to learn to keep his curiosity to a limit, and keep his nose out of my things!"

Watson realizes that it will be pointless to argue with the detective at this point. He lays down atop his bed, placing Gladstone beside him. Grabbing a book off his night-stand, he shakes his head. "Holmes, just leave. I'll talk to the dog, if you would like."

Holmes watches as Watson begins to read his selected book, and just gives another huff, frustrated. He can do nothing but leave, and he does so; slamming the door behind him.

Watson cannot help but smile and he looks over at Gladstone, who looks back at him with a face expressing eternal gratitude.

_An hour later._

Upon the sitting-room floor Holmes is placed, knees drawn up to his chest, chin resting upon his arms, which were crossed over his knees. He had been looking into the fire for that last hour, pondering the past event. What is it about that dog that Watson seems to take a liking to so much? All the pup practically does is sit his fat rump about the apartment, watching things with a creepy stare. The detective shakes his head, unable to understand Watson's love for the animal.

Holmes yawns, and then hears the door slowly creak open. He does not even bother to turn around to look, still cross. Footsteps make their way to him and from the corner of his eye, he observes Watson sit down beside him and make himself comfortable upon the tiger-skin rug. That blasted dog is still in the doctor's arms. Watson glances quickly at Holmes and sighs. "You are acting very childish about this, Holmes."

Holmes does nothing.

"Gladstone says that he is sorry for interrupting your experiments."

The detective looks over at the two, face blank. "Oh, he said that, did he?"

Watson holds his head up a bit, defending his beloved pet. "Yes. In fact, he did. He promised he would never do it again. But he wants your forgiveness first."

Holmes looks at the dog, and makes a sound of annoyance. He reluctantly reaches his arm out and pats the dog's head. "I forgive you, Gladstone," then looks up at Watson. "Is that good enough?"

Watson smiles with satisfactory and nods. He releases the bulldog and looks at Holmes, knowing that he is upset that he lost this feud.

"Oh, Holmes, do lighten up," he says softly, moving closer to the man, resting his arm around his neck and shoulders. He cranes his neck over and places a tender kiss on the detective's neck, and he feels Holmes's tension relieve some from his affection.

Holmes says nothing, but then turns, and presses his lips to Watson's. The familiar taste of the doctor's soft lips made all Holmes's tension fall, and mind clear completely; the only thing that could ever make him do so.

Watson smiles into the kiss, and then, after a few moments, gently ends it. All rememberance of the earlier matter had been erased that moment, and the doctor smirks. He slowly stands and yawns. "Let us go to bed, old boy," he mutters, walking out of the sitting-room. Holmes can't help but smile, and he quickly follows.


End file.
